


Glimmer

by SnowyWolff



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, F/M, Nationverse, Slow Romance, vague depictions of history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 02:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyWolff/pseuds/SnowyWolff
Summary: Their meetings are few and far between, but something blossoms between them anyway, even after the years chip away at them.





	1. July 1815

**Author's Note:**

> My first entry for the HWD OTP event of August. 
> 
> Prompts: Moonlight and “Why are you crying?”

_July 1815_

The cool night air is a welcoming reprieve from the uptight socializations happening inside. Prussia closes the huge class door behind him, leaving his hand on the brass handle a moment too long in slight hesitation. His reflection stares blankly back at him until Prussia scoffs.

Austria had organized the event for all the big guns of their newly proclaimed German Confederation. All the states were present for the ball, but the kid himself had been sent to bed earlier. Prussia would have offered a bedtime story had Austria not been right there. If Austria knew that Prussia liked to dote on what he considered to be his little brother, he would never hear the end of it, nor disentangle the kid from his claws. Besides, everyone knew that this federation was meant to project the power of the Austrian Empire and the Kingdom of Prussia. Mushy stuff like feelings would only complicate the matter. (And Prussia really doesn’t want a repeat of the Holy Roman Empire; poor kid had been dragged along by Austria on false promises for far too long).

Running a tired hand through his hair, Prussia turns away from the door. King Friedrich Wilhelm III had all but begged him to be on his best behaviour for the night, what with all the kings and queens and ministers and God knows what else being present. It just wouldn’t do if the country caused a scene by challenging Austria to a duel to the temporary death over something as innocuous as spilt champagne.

However, Prussia being who he is, he had quickly grown bored of formalities and his king trying to get him to interact with Saxony and Hanover like he was some child struggling with making friends.

Now that he is outside, his annoyance quickly dissipates into an almost empty calm. It gives him his focus and he calmly observes his surroundings to keep his mind from straying to dangerous topics.

The event is hosted in one of Austria’s many estates, one Prussia hasn’t been to before. The building is large and stately with classical accents. The huge glass windows and doors face toward the garden, meant to both impress and intimidate, showing off wealth and luxury. He can see the people dancing and talking and notices Bavaria making obscene gestures at Hesse who returned them with equal vigour.

The building itself had been freshly painted white and Prussia pities the poor men being ordered about by Austria to make it as perfect as everything else has to be in his life.

When the architecture starts to bore him too, he turns to where the terrace leads into the garden. There is always an adventure in a garden, even in Austria’s perfectly pristine one’s.

So Prussia saunters along the path, finding peace in the chirps of crickets that are slowly drawing to a close now that the sun has set. He doesn’t often find time to enjoy the little things, his kings and military keeping him occupied most of the time. Now he stops to observe the roses in the pale light of the moon.

They glimmer like the diamonds on the women’s jewellery, still damp from the short spring shower of earlier that day. They’re beautiful and he finds them oddly precious, a feeling he doesn’t often get. He can’t keep to many things dear, not in the nature of Europe, in the nature of his country, _himself_.

He reaches for one of the flowers, touching the petals. It’s a caress, simple and sweet, and drops of water dampen the tips of his gloves. Prussia finds himself wondering what the others would say if they saw him in such a vulnerable position. He frowns as he imagines what Austria would sneer.

A soft noise has him nearly ripping a petal from the rose as he swivels around, hand reaching for his dagger. Austria thinks it’s barbaric to keep one on one’s person during parties; Prussia finds them a necessity.

But there is no one in his direct surroundings, so he relaxes a little. He strains to listen to the sound, trying to identify it first and then take the appropriate course of action toward it.

He realizes with a little jolt that it’s the sound of someone crying, but desperately trying to smother the sound. Curiosity peaked—because who cries at such a public event?—he slips along the path, pausing when the hedges open up to another terrace. This one is higher placed, hanging partially over a pond, a small set of stairs leading up toward it.

Yet he is caught by the girl leaning on the balustrade, face hidden by her small hands. The moonlight illuminates her blond hair, pulled up in a bun and decorated with glittering gemstones. Her dress is a cream colour, simple and almost childlike in its design.

Frankly, she looks like an angel, and Prussia is momentarily thrown by the thought alone.

And when Prussia is thrown, his control on his mouth slips and he blurts, “Why are you crying, _M_ _ädchen_?”

She jumps, like a bird, hands falling away as she frantically wipes her face and turns. She pauses then, and from this distance she seems to have stopped breathing all together, as she slowly turns back to where Prussia is still standing at the edge of the garden. She stares at him, eyes wide and glassy. He can’t see their colour, not with the moon behind her now, but he holds up his hands all the same.

He may be the Kingdom of Prussia, the greatest nation to have ever existed, with a proud history and an awesome heritage, but his experience with women was still next to none. He could hardly be in the presence of his queens without breaking out into cold sweat at the awkward non-existent conversation that hangs like a thick fog in the room.

It’s no different now, no matter how young the girl may be in physical age. She couldn’t be that old in nation-age either because Prussia couldn’t recall her name. He does remember her hovering behind Austria during introductions and whispered threats of soon-to-be conflicts.

The silence is stifling and Prussia rubs the back of his neck, wondering why the hell he couldn’t have kept his mouth shut. The girl is still sniffling, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand and Prussia reaches into his pocket almost unthinkingly.

“Handkerchief?” he offers because he doubts Austria would appreciate the girl snotting up her probably expensive clothes.

She is still staring at him and he decides that words might be too high of an expectation of her. God only knows what bullcrap Austria has told her about him. So, he walks toward the terrace, ignoring the stairs because he figures he would startle her if he comes too close, and steps in between the bushes. He reaches up and places the simple cloth on the balustrade, sending a lopsided smile her way.

Her eyes dart between the handkerchief and his eyes, uncertainty slowly replaced with curiosity.

Prussia steps back, nodding to her. He brushes off his pants, frowning at a stain he is certain Austria will zero in on the moment he steps back inside. When he glances back up, he catches the girl reaching for the handkerchief, blushing as she grabs it quickly and presses it to her nose, not entirely succeeding in hiding the flush that had spread on her cheeks.

But then she daintily presses the cloth to her eyes and cheeks after Prussia raises his eyebrows, wiping away the remnants of tears. She hesitates a moment before she blows her nose, the noise echoing through the garden.

It elicits a snort from Prussia and she gasps, clutching the cloth to her chest, embarrassment colouring her cheeks even darker.

Grinning up at her, he starts to slowly walk backward. “You can keep that,” he says and adds a wink for good measure. “As a gift of my goodwill.”

It’s when he turns, that the girl finally calls out a soft, “Wait!”

So he does, glancing up at her as she leans forward on the balustrade, the moonlight finally catching her eyes. They’re green, bordering on blue, and so very bright. Prussia has to wonder whether such an innocent girl would survive the politics of this confederation. He hopes Hungary will look out for her.

“Yes?”

She opens her mouth, blushes again, and leans forward a bit more, some strands of her hair falling across her forehead as they escape the bun. Swallowing, she speaks a little louder than before. “Thank you, _Herr_ _Preu_ _ßen_.”

Prussia licks his lips, giving her a lazy salute before sauntering off, feeling a lot better about the whole evening. As he walks by the roses again, he can’t help but think of her, and how he has to figure out what nation she is so he can maybe pry her from Austria’s hands during the next war.


	2. February 1947

_February 1947_

There is something eerie about Berlin and Liechtenstein finds herself walking just the tiniest bit closer to her brother.

She really likes calling Switzerland her brother, even if their relationship had initially been one of desperation on her part. Austria had never allowed her to call him brother, citing that close relationships with other nations were strictly business-like, though Liechtenstein supposes that his marriage with Hungary had been something else.

They don’t necessarily have to be in Berlin, but the Allies are there for some final proceedings concerning the control of Germany, and Switzerland still has some issues to settle with America about the compensation for the bombings of his land during the war. Liechtenstein had wanted to come because she never got the chance to leave either her own country or Switzerland’s much. Now, she almost regrets it.

Germany has been rebuilding, certainly, but there is still a lot broken. She wonders how Germany himself is feeling, then wonders if she’s allowed to worry for his health.

“You’re quiet,” Switzerland comments as they walk past the remnants of a building. It looks untouched and undisturbed. It almost seems as if people are afraid to come close to it, the dust layers thick.

Liechtenstein hums, offering a smile to a lady who clutches her baby to her chest and hurries away, eyes wide and scared. It pains her to see these people so broken without having the ability to offer them any help.

“Lili.” It’s part a sigh and she turns to him.

“I’m just thinking,” she says softly.

Switzerland gives her a very long look. He has never been that good at reading people, not the way she knows Russia and France can, but he is getting better at reading her. His eyes stray from hers, to the ribbon she religiously ties in her hair every day, before looking away all together.

“These things happen. Humanity is cruel.” Switzerland shrugs. “We all protect our own.”

“But you protect me.”

Switzerland flushes, coughing in his fist as Liechtenstein giggles at his expense.

“I picked you up because Austria dropped you like a rock in the ocean. I like to believe I do better than that.”

“Mister Austria had little to say in the matter,” Liechtenstein says with a soft sigh.

Switzerland doesn’t answer as they stop in front of the Kammergericht, the building as impressive as the people currently arguing within. Liechtenstein can feel their discussion simmering in the cold and she wraps her scarf a little tighter around her neck.

She pauses just as Switzerland climbs the first steps. He turns to her, raising his eyebrows in question, but she just shakes her head.

“I’m staying outside,” she says. “Your politics, not mine.”

There is hesitation in Switzerland’s eyes and he scans the park quickly. Then he nods, though it looks more like a sharp jerk of his head. “Don’t stray from here. Stay in sight. Scream if—”

“Yes, yes, brother.” She smiles and gives him a gentle shove back up the stairs he had descended back down from to give her instructions. “I know. I’ll be fine.”

He subjects her to another long look until she makes shooing motions with her hands and decidedly turns around to start her minor exploration.

The park is bare still, winter finally melting away in favour of more mellow spring weather. It’s still chilly, but it’s colder in her country now so it doesn’t bother her too much. There are a handful of benches placed along the path, mostly empty, as is the park itself, but then she feels a tug in her chest. The feeling is reserved for being like them and it startles her a bit because they’re all supposed to be inside. This one is weak, almost as if it isn’t supposed to be there, and she carefully makes her way toward it.

She recognizes the mess of silver locks first, the sun glinting off it, colouring them golden. It’s not as beautiful as his hair had been back then, the moonlight making him look ethereal. She would have thought him an angel had his eyes not been as red as the blood she knew he liked to spill.

Yet the person sitting on the bench shaded by the building hardly looks like the man who had playfully saluted her before vanishing within the gardens. Who had, later that evening, started a bet with Holstein who could drink the most glasses of champagne before Austria would cut them off. Who had lost because Hungary had caught wind of it and knocked both men out of the park much to Austria’s exasperation.

Prussia sits with his elbows on his knees, his head buried in his hands. He’s wearing a pathetically thin coat, but the trembles that shake his frame aren’t simply from the chill if the soft noises breaking past his defences are anything to go by.

It’s disconcerting. Prussia is supposed to be the high and mighty creator of the German Empire, victor over many campaigns and battlefields, proud and boastful to a fault. Not this thin and gaunt _shadow_ of a man holding back tears in a broken, former empire’s equally broken capital.

She reaches for her pocket, pulling out a handkerchief that she’s had for over a hundred years now. It’s unravelling along the edges and she’s had to do some emergency sewing to replace the lace lost during a particular disastrous tug of war with her St. Bernard. She really keeps it on her as a memento of a kindness the very man in front of her had once given her, a kindness that had once been difficult to find.

It is only proper to return it.

“Why are you crying, _mein Herr_?” she asks softly, as if not to startle a frightened bird.

He does anyway and stops breathing. Liechtenstein sits on her haunches in front of him, calmly and kindly looking up in case he decides to lower his hands. Then, she hesitates for a moment before she touches his hand with the handkerchief and Prussia starts to breathe again.

His hands fall away from his face and he just stares at her for a moment. He looks absolutely miserable, eyes red, cheeks glistening, mouth set in a taut line.

When he doesn’t take the handkerchief from her, she presses it to his cheek instead. His breath hitches and he turns his head.

“Mister—”

“Don’t,” he says hoarsely. He digs his fingers in his leg, twisting the fabric of his trousers.

She bites her lip as she weighs the pros and cons carefully. Switzerland always tells her it’s a good way to decide whether something is worth it. She hopes he’s right because she reaches for Prussia’s chin and forcefully turns his head toward her.

His eyes flash, but she ignores them, ignores what fear they must have instilled not two years ago, and gently dabs at his cheeks.

“Close your eyes,” she says and she doesn’t miss the wary look that crosses through them before he does as she asks. She wipes the tears from under his eyes, only faintly aware of how strange it must look for a small girl to wipe a grown man’s face to anyone happening to walk by. But no one does, so it’s of no concern to her.

Liechtenstein moves her hand away so she can observe her handiwork, but freezes when Prussia reaches out and clasps it. It’s gentle even if his hands are rough and she stares, unsure of what to do. She glances up in his eyes and finds them focused on her already. They’re bronze in this light and somewhat kinder, more reminiscent of that evening so very long ago.

Then there is a sly smile as he takes the handkerchief from her fingers and blows his nose. It sounds like a foghorn as it seems to echo around the park and Liechtenstein can’t help the laugh that bursts past her lips. She covers her mouth as Austria’s warning of lady-likeness echoes through her mind, but Prussia’s eyes are as bright as his smile, so she supposes it doesn’t matter much.

Prussia glances at the poor old handkerchief, fingers tracing over the intricate eagle embroidered in the corner. “You kept it,” he says and he sounds a little marvelled, his voice so soft and unlike him.

Liechtenstein’s legs are starting to cramp so she moves to sit next to him, brushing down her long skirt as to evade those curiously confused eyes. She hums. “Yes, well, it was a token of goodwill after all.”

A small smile plays at Prussia’s lips, but it’s gone soon enough. A melancholy look enters his eyes and he sighs, lowering the kerchief to his lap as he stares unseeingly into the distance.

Words do not seem appropriate so Liechtenstein places a hand on his knee instead. He blinks and glances at it, almost as if it’s something so foreign he’s never seen it before. Carefully, Liechtenstein would call it shyly, Prussia places his hand on top of hers.

His hand is much larger than hers and she watches as he slots his fingers so they fall in between hers. He isn’t holding her hand, not really, but it’s a comforting touch.

Liechtenstein crosses her ankles, allowing a content smile as she looks around the park. There isn’t all that much to see, and she ends up observing Prussia instead. His eyes are trained on a big oak tree, lost in some old memory.

She finds she doesn’t like the expression much, remembering the sharp focus that had shone in them before. So, she squeezes his leg to gain his attention and his eyes snap to her.

He tilts his head and his hair catches the midday sun that peaks around the building again, making it glimmer gold. His cheekbones are sharper, more pronounced, and there’s a faint stubble that she hasn’t noticed before.

Yet, she finds herself drawn to his eyes. How could she not? They are loud and demanding all on their own, struggling between shades of red and bronze. They are a nation’s worst nightmare, have been for centuries. They are a trap designed to lure and catch their opponent, and Liechtenstein is no match either.

She swallows and leans forward, waiting for him to…

A sharp tug tells her of a nation leaving the building and she gasps. She just _knows_ it’s her brother. He has a gift for unfortunate timing after all.

Prussia senses it too and he removes his hand from hers, brushing it through his hair. He flashes her a crooked smile and she wonders if he had caught onto what she had hoped he would do. She can’t decide whether she’s glad or disappointed.

Liechtenstein stands because she doubt either Prussia or Switzerland would be very happy to meet face to face. She turns to Prussia and is surprised when he reaches forward and takes her hand in his one more time.

“Thank you, _Fr_ _äulein_ Liechtenstein,” he says earnestly and presses a chaste kiss to her knuckles. It makes her blush all the way up to her ears. He releases her hand with a small smile and she clutches it to her chest.

She ducks her head and all but bolts away to Switzerland who is scanning the grounds with a laser-like focus. He gives her a confused look, but she brushes it off by looping her arm through his and dragging him away from the Kammergericht.

It’s not until they sit in the train to Switzerland that she realizes she left the handkerchief with Prussia.


	3. June 1990

_June 1990_

Lili sits in the grass, overlooking the town that lies in the valley below the hill her house stands on. The sun has mellowed out and a soft breeze makes it colder than it really is. She wraps her shawl a little closer around her shoulders, too content to return home just yet.

Basch had gone home earlier that day, having too much work to do to have stayed longer than the weekend, but it had been fun while it lasted. She always gets a little lonely when he leaves, but it gives her room to breathe again too. He could be really overbearing at times, even now that the world is changing and women are allowed a lot more freedom.

It isn’t until the sun starts to set that Lili collects the picnic blanket and heads to her solitary house. It’s small and old and a little weathered, but she and Basch occasionally do repairs if the need arises so it still stands sturdy.

Her house holds a mismatched collection of furniture of different eras. Her living room would give Austria headaches, the old couch dating from the 1960s, the coffee table from before the 1800s and the wall paper that had come with the house from the 1850s. But even if it’s a little removed from modern society, what with the radio being from just after the Second World War and there being no TV because she has no service up here, it’s warm and cozy and _home_.

Boris lifts his giant head from his paws as she enters the living room. He’s lying in front of the empty fireplace and gives a soft _boof_ in greeting. She smiles at him, kneeling on the floor to take his head between her hands and give him some good ruffles.

“You want some dinner, big boy?” she coos as she heads to the kitchen.

Refilling both bowls with water and dry food, she watches her St. Bernard meander into the kitchen, almost reaching up to the counter. He sits patiently until she puts the bowls back on the floor and starts slobbering up the food. She leaves him to it, focusing on her own dinner.

The leftover stew is still as good as when she had made it two days earlier. It is Basch’s favourite, even if it was a little above his preferred budget. She doesn’t care much for her brother’s stinginess though, having plenty money to spend herself, and likes to spoil him in return for his kindness of so many years ago.

After doing the dishes, she tunes the age-old radio until she finds something Pop-y from America and curls up on her favourite arm chair with a glass of wine. Boris drops down at the foot of the chair, releasing a deep sigh that Lili could relate to.

There’s a knock on the door that startles her from where she had started to drowse. She blinks and rubs her eyes as Boris lets out one sharp bark before getting up and heavily making his way over to front door.

Lili warily gets to her feet, warnings and escape plans running through her head. It was the one thing her brother had made very clear during their years together: if you live alone on a mountain with only a giant dog that wouldn’t eat a fly, you should always— _always_ —have a gun somewhere easily accessible.

So she takes the pistol that she keeps in the cabinet by the stairs and carefully loads the bullets as she makes her way to the front door.

Boris is sniffing at the door, but doesn’t seem too bothered by whomever is on the other side. He moves aside when he hears her approach and sits behind her, giving her a sagely look as if to say that violence is not an answer. She agrees, but the part that has been rigorously trained by Basch refuses to unload the gun.

She cocks the safety and unbolts the door with her free hand. She allows it to swing open, keeping the gun trained on the ground but in sight, hoping that it would deter the intruder. She breathes deeply and opens her mouth to ask what they want, but then she pauses, staring wide-eyed.

It’s Prussia, his hair still catching the final rays of the sun. Her chest only just now tells her of his presence, so small and unobtrusive she could have mistaken him for a micronation.

No one has seen Prussia after the Wall was constructed through Germany. Everyone had presumed him dead. He is _supposed_ to be dead, faded away as the Prussian Kingdom, unless he’s shifted in the culture encompassing East Germany.

And by all means, he _looks_ dead too, or near to it.

His clothes hang off his frame, all the muscle that used to be so impressive gone, leaving a skeleton in their wake. His cheekbones jut out even sharper and the dark purple bruise on his jaw is such a stark contrast to his sickly pale skin that Lili involuntarily winces. His hair is unkempt, longer than she’s ever seen it, and his eyes are sunken, hollow almost.

Prussia stares at the gun with a strange expression, caught somewhere between fear and quiet acceptance. It was a terrifying expression to find on his face.

“I—” he starts, but has to clear his throat, the sound rough as if he hadn’t used it in years. The idea of Prussia not speaking a mile a minute is frankly disturbing.

Lili puts the safety back on and drops the pistol on the dresser behind her. When she turns back, his eyes are still on the weapon, so she steps forward and grabs his—thin, thin, _thin_ —wrists. Her fingers can close almost entirely around them and he flinches, eyes shifting to her.

She pulls him inside, all the way to the living room and forces him to sit on the couch. It scares her a little how easily she completes those objectives.

“You’re freezing,” she says softly and she picks at the thin jacket he’s wearing.

Prussia folds in on himself, fingers curling around his arms as if to hide his state from her. Evading her eyes, he speaks to the rug from 1886, “I’m fine.”

It’s such a generic lie that Lili turns around and busies herself with kindling a fire. Normally she’d never even think about lighting it in summer, but there is something so inherently freezing about Prussia that she makes an exception.

Boris comes trudging back then, walking up to Prussia. He seems to hesitate a moment before he places his paws on the space next to Prussia, coming close to towering over the man, and licks his face. Lili watches as Prussia startles, hands reaching up to grab Boris’ head in silent confusion.

“If he bothers you, just tell him off,” she says as she stands again and heads to the kitchen.

Prussia hums, but there is the hint of a smile playing at his lips, so Lili deems it safe enough to warm some food. When she returns with a bowl of stew, both Boris and Prussia are on the floor in front of the fire. The dog’s head is in Prussia’s lap while the man scratches him behind his ears, breathing deeply.

She gently sits down next to him, holding up a spoon for Prussia. He hesitates, but takes it, as well as the bowl, and stares at the thick liquid within.

He manages to eat half of it before he has to set it down. Lili doesn’t insist and neither does she ask. It’s not difficult to see that Prussia’s dinners were few and far between.

“Thank you,” he mutters, his hands falling back on Boris’ head. The dog rumbles, but doesn’t otherwise move.

“No need to.” She smiles and he looks away to the fire.

There’s a companionable silence as the fire crackles. Lili notices the occasional shocks that shake Prussia’s frame and pulls one of the many blankets she owns (this one from 1974) and drapes it across his shoulders.

He inhales sharply, one hand reaching up to pull it tighter around himself, fingers digging in the flowery quilt. Dropping his head to her shoulder, he sighs and closes his eyes.

Lili sits rigidly at first, unsure of what to do, but relaxes once she realizes he’s just bone-tired. So, she slumps a little against him as well, hoping to make it more comfortable.

They drowse like that until Prussia startles himself awake by snoring a little too loudly and jolts like he expects something bad to happen. His eyes are wild for a moment, but they melt in recognition as he sees her and he swallows.

Not entirely knowing what to do, Lili reaches up and touches his cheek.

He flinches, but then presses her hand against his cheek, over the bruise. Then he moves it to hold her wrist and he moves it slightly so he can press his lips to it. It’s not quite a kiss, but it makes Lili blush nonetheless.

“I’m sorry for imposing on you like this,” he says softly and he has to clear his throat. Lili offers to get some water, but he waves it away, pressing his free hand against her leg as if to ground her there. “I… it was the first place that came to mind after—after the Wall fell.”

Lili sighs, brushing her thumb across his cheek. She frowns at the bruise. “Who did that?”

Prussia shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes as he does so. “Doesn’t matter.”

Reaching up to brush it aside, she smiles a little. “You need a haircut.”

“Yeah.” He snorts and releases her hand, stretching and giving Boris a pat when the dog complains.

Lili decides that it’s time to head to bed and urges him up the stairs. He allows himself to be shown to the guest bedroom and the heavy trudges that sound behind them tells of Boris’ arrival.

Giving Prussia a critical look, she wonders if he would fit some of Basch’s clothes. He’s thin enough, but her brother is short, has always been short, so she doubts any of his shirts would fit Prussia well.

He raises an eyebrow and the ghost of a sly smile tugs at his lips, so Lili gestures to the closet.

“You can see if any of Brother’s clothes fit you,” she says, turning away to hide her blush. “If not, I’ll go to the village tomorrow morning.”

There is a hum from behind her, so she takes it as her cue to leave, but jumps when he wraps a hand around her arm.

Turning to him, she finds herself a little too close to the man, his eyes regaining a little of their intensity as he leans in.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely and for a breathtaking moment she thinks he’s going to kiss her. But then he lets go of her wrist and turns to the closet, picking through the handful of simply shirts and trousers Basch keeps at her place.

She breathes and carefully heads out, leaving the door open because Boris has made himself at home at the foot of the guest bed—Prussia’s bed.

Downstairs, she makes sure the fire is no longer a threat to their immediate livelihood and clears away Prussia’s bowl, rinsing it in the sink and setting it aside to dry overnight. She turns off the lights and makes her way back up the stairs, pausing at Prussia’s door.

He’s already sprawled in bed, lazily threading his fingers through Boris’ fur. Glancing up, he grins at her. It’s perhaps a little forced, but it’s better than the taut line his mouth had been in before, so Lili returns a smile.

“Goodnight,” she says.

Prussia wiggles his fingers in a small wave. “G’night.”

And when she falls in her bed after changing, she breathes a little easier knowing that Prussia is safe.

***

When she wakes the next morning, she wakes to the smell of freshly cooked breakfast. She dawdles down the stairs, rubbing her eyes as she watches Prussia cooking _something_ on the stove from the entrance of the kitchen.

He turns and flashes her a grin, a real one. Then he quickly turns back to the stove to flip what appears to be a thin crepe.

“Morning,” he says.

“Good morning.” Her answer is slower, uncertain. There is a change in Prussia and she isn’t sure what to tie it to.

He notices and, after sliding the crepe from the pan on the pile already made, he turns around. He’s wearing an old sweater that falls a little roomy on Basch, but seems to fit Prussia just fine, even if it is still a little short. The trousers he’s wearing don’t reach his ankles, so his overall look more or less makes it seem as if his clothes went in the dryer and came out shrunken.

“Um,” Lili starts, then doesn’t quite know where to go with it. She continues anyway. “Mister—”

He interrupts her, quickly, almost desperately. “Gilbert. My name is Gilbert.”

“Gilbert.” She tastes his name, finds she likes it a lot, and smiles. Walking up to the stove and reaching past him to turn off the gas, she looks up at him. “I’m Lili.”

Gilbert licks his lips and his fingers twitch against the counter. “Lili from Liechtenstein. That’s cute.”

Blushing, Lili moves away from him and starts to look around the cabinets for plates and cutlery. She hears him chuckle behind her, but she busies herself with setting the table as he once more scours through her fridge. He finds milk and juice, both setting them on the table.

“So,” Lili starts again as she takes the jam and finds some syrup hidden behind her mixer, “why is the guest cooking breakfast, and crepes at that too?”

Gilbert sits down, reaching for the milk bottle immediately, then pauses at her question. He looks a little sheepish, then pours some milk in his glass to hide it.

“I figured I’d repay your kindness,” he says after taking a sip. She felt he left something along the lines of _and to show you I_ _’m worth keeping around_ unsaid.

“Well, thank you.” She reaches for his hand and covers it with hers. “But you didn’t have to.”

He blinks, glancing at her hand with a slightly marvelled expression as if he doesn’t quite believe that she’s there.

She pats his hand for good measure before moving to help herself to a crepe.

“I'm cooking dinner tonight and tomorrow we'll have a normal breakfast,” she says as she lathers a generous layer of jam on her crepe. She smiles, maybe a little coyly, and adds, “You can cook tomorrow night’s dinner.”

Gilbert nods slowly, reaching for the syrup. He pauses just as he has a knife full of the thick liquid hanging precariously above the pot. “So you don't mind me staying here?”

Lili shrugs, eyeing his hand until he finally moves it above his plate, drawing silly string designs on his crepe as he waits for her answer.

“Nope.” She decides to omit her brother from the equation. She'd deal with him when the time would arrive. “I'm somewhat flattered, really.”

The crepe slips from Gilbert’s fingers and lands on the plate with a dull thud. A faint blush colours his cheeks. “Flattered?” He echoes it, the word almost foreign as it rolls of his tongue.

“Yes, Gilbert. No one even remembers that I am a country, much less come visit.”

There's a smile at his lips and he ducks his head, shoving the crepe in his mouth. It was bad etiquette in Austria’s ledger certainly, but Lili doesn't mind his table manners much. It's somewhat refreshing in comparison to all the stiff Germans surrounding her.

After breakfast, Gilbert insists on helping do the dishes and Lili relents by giving him the dish towel. He hums old wartime songs as he dries and there's a swing to his hip that isn't quite there yet. She wonders what the years behind the Wall took from him and hopes that somehow she can bring it back.

Lili then forces him to take a shower and shows him to her bathroom. He seems a little marvelled as she explains the buttons on the shower and, after pushing some fluffy towels into his arms, she tells him she is going down to the village to buy him some clothes that fit. He nods, eyes on the assortment of bottles lining the wall, so she leaves him to it.

The shop owner smiles as she asks him for shirts and trousers, then falters when he asks whether they’re for her brother. When he asks again whether it’s for a _special_ friend, Lili blushes before faltering again because she doesn’t actually know Gilbert’s size. She guesses two larger from her brother’s because while Gilbert is gaunt, he’s still tall. She’ll have to take Gilbert to town sometime to have some sturdy boots fitted.

Before she heads home, she passes by the bakery and buys a variety of pastries, wanting to treat Gilbert to something nice. It might also be part of her master plan to have him start gaining more weight because it’s scaring her a little. Not that she’ll make that known to him. Besides, Gilbert was smart enough to figure that out himself.

When she returns, Gilbert is sprawled on the carpet, wearing Basch’s favourite trousers, and Boris is lying on top of him. They both look up at her as she enters.

After placing the bags on the table, she turns to them with her hands on her hips. “I see you two are making friends,” she comments dryly.

Gilbert grins, lifting a hand to pat Boris on the head. “Bestest of buds.”

Lili chuckles, kneeling next to them to scratch behind Boris’ ears. She smiles at Gilbert. “I bought clothes and strudel.”

He nods and gently starts to push the dog off of him. Boris complies with a low rumble, moving to lie in front of the empty fireplace. Gilbert stretches and sits up, scratching his stomach where the shirt had ridden up. Lili tries not to stare.

“Why strudel?” he asks.

“I like strudel.” Lili shrugs.

There’s a moment where Gilbert gives her a narrow look, and she just knows he knows what she’s trying to pull, but then he nods.

“Me too,” he admits softly.

Lili sends him upstairs again to fit his new clothes while she prepares coffee. It’s just as she places the plates with strudel on the coffee table that Gilbert trudges back downstairs, smoothing out the button down.

“I stole one of Switzerland’s belts,” he says as he drops down on the couch. “Oh, do you have sugar?”

She pushes the sugar pot his way. “Plenty. You don’t have to ask.”

“Right.” He picks two cubes and drops them into his coffee. “You have it pretty well here, don’t you?”

Lili hums, stirring her own coffee before taking a careful sip and sighing. “It’s really thanks to Basch that I’m still here to begin with.”

“I never would have expected it from him, to be honest.” Gilbert picks at his strudel. “Mister Straight-Laced.”

“He's very kind, you know.”

“I'm aware,” he says dryly and then looks at her, something strange glimmering in his eyes. “If he hadn't picked you up—” He stops then, immediately glancing back at his pastry.

“Yes?” Lili prompts because she doesn't know what else to say.

A faint blush rises up from the collar of his button down (Lili is glad to see it suits him) and he drinks his coffee as a distraction.

“Nothing,” he sighs then.

Lili considers, but then blurts out, “Would you have?”

Gilbert startles and he looks at her. “What?”

“Would you have taken me in if he hadn't?”

“I—” Gilbert stutters and he has to set down his mug to fiddle with his cuffs. He undoes and redoes the button a couple of times before letting his hands fall back into his lap. “I have no right to make such claims.”

“Claims,” Lili echoes and she looks at him curiously. “Basch had has no claim on me either. He’s just my brother.”

Gilbert mutters something and Lili asks him to repeat it. His eyes flash to hers and she is so, so caught in them.

“I said that I wouldn't want to be your brother. I’d want to be—” He chokes back the words and stands abruptly.

“Gilbert?” Lili is half-up out of her own seat by the time he has made it to the other side of the room, standing by the dresser she got off a flea market in 1964.

He lets his fingers slide across a decorative jewellery box, his shoulders stiff. He runs a hand through his hair and it sticks up in odd angles. It’s a little desperate and he turns to her as she approaches carefully.

“Gilbert,” Lili repeats softly and grabs his hand as it falls back to his side. “Why did you come here?”

He holds onto her, squeezing almost painfully, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Evading her eyes for a long moment as he searches for the words, he steps just the slightest bit closer.

“I just—” He lets go of her hand and reaches inside his pocket. He pulls out the old handkerchief, not looking a day older from when she had given it to him. “I figured I should return this.”

Lili stares at the piece of cloth for a long moment, then she looks back at him, at those sparkling red eyes, and she falls forward into his arms. She pulls down his face and presses her lips to his.

Gilbert freezes, but then his hands fumble around her neck and he tilts her head, deepening the kiss after tentatively running his tongue across her lower lip. She opens her mouth eagerly and, while it’s a little awkward due to her inexperience, she grasps the basics remarkably fast.

Their tongues slide against each other until it all becomes too hot for Lili and she has to move away. She breaks the kiss, take a deep breath of fresh air as Gilbert brushes his lips over her cheeks and whispers in her ear.

“I came here to see you.”

Lili shivers and she moves her head just so that she can place a kiss on his cheek. Then she buries her head against his neck and sighs. Gilbert’s arm tightens around her as the other cards through her hair leisurely.

“You should stay,” Lili murmurs into his collarbone.

The fingers in her hair stop, falling to her neck as Gilbert pulls her even closer. He presses his nose against the top of her head.

“I’d love to,” he breathes.

Lili reaches up again and Gilbert indulges her in another kiss, leaving both breathless. She then drags him back to the couch where she can hide her smile behind her mug and sit a little closer than decent to Gilbert.

His grin is infectious as he stuffs his face with strudel, washing it all down with the coffee. When he grabs her elbow and steals a kiss from her lips, she all but melts against him.

It’s nice and sweet and tastes faintly of coffee and apple. As he pulls back, there’s a glimmer in his eyes and Lili brushes her thumb across his cheek. She smiles.

“No more crying.”

Gilbert laughs and grabs her hand, pressing a line of kisses along her palm and wrist.

“No more crying,” he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purposefully keeping reasons as to why they’re crying vague. I didn’t want to get too political with this, just wanted to focus on a slow relationship between these two.
> 
> Dates:  
> July 1815 - Creation of the German Confederation   
> February 1947 - Abolition of Prussia  
> June 1990 - Fall of Berlin Wall
> 
> Comments appreciated :D


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